Worried Sick
by Night N. Gail
Summary: Ratchet rolled his eyes and headed for the door. "Aw, don't be such a worry-wart! I'm totally—" He stopped mid-sentence and stumbled a bit, like he was dizzy. His ears wilted behind his head. He faltered, and then suddenly collapsed.
1. Home Sick

**Foreword:**

**Okay, I know I said I probably wouldn't post any new fanfics for a while, but this one has been almost done for quite some time and I finally got unstuck about how to finish it. XD This is basically my idea of what could happen directly after the events of the first game to really cement Ratchet and Clank's friendship to the point where they become inseparable. The story is four chapters long, and I'll be posting them at one week intervals. Have fun!**

* * *

_The spirit of a man will sustain him in sickness, but who can bear a broken spirit?_

— _Proverbs 18:14_

« ... »

"Hold still," Ratchet muttered, tightening a screw inside the joint of a small metal arm. "This may tickle."

Clank gave him a funny look. "Forgive me, as I am not yet entirely familiar with your mannerisms, but... that was humor, correct?"

Ratchet cleared his throat hard before he sarcastically asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I am a robot. I do not think it is possible for me to experience such a sensation as—"

He stopped suddenly, his eyes zipped wide open, and he started laughing.

"Wow, you mean it actually tickles?" Ratchet marveled in a hoarse voice with a smile on his face. He coughed as he added, "You're a real weirdo, you know that?"

"Stop, Ratchet, I cannot take it!" Clank exclaimed through his laughter, frantically kicking his left foot.

With one eye closed, Ratchet continued to work closely with a pair of precision pliers in Clank's shoulder joint. "Hang on, I've almost got it... There."

Something clicked, and Ratchet backed away from Clank, who sighed in relief and began to experiment with his arm.

"I must commend your skill," he said. "It is as good as new."

"You bet," Ratchet bragged. His voice sounded a little rough. "Why would I have any—" (he paused to cough) "any trouble fixing up a toaster like you?" As Ratchet finished this jab he started coughing repeatedly.

"Ratchet, are you all right? You have been coughing a lot in the past few hours."

"I'm fine," Ratchet rasped.

"You do not sound fine," Clank muttered with concern. "Perhaps you should see a physician."

Ratchet scoffed. "Please. I didn't need a doctor when I had desert flu, when I got my tail caught in a warp injector, or any of the times I broke a limb. I don't need one for a stupid—"

Suddenly he burst into a fit of coughing.

"Ratchet, be reasonable..." Clank pleaded, looking worried.

Ratchet rolled his eyes and headed for the door. "Aw, don't be such a worry-wart! I'm totally—" He stopped mid-sentence and stumbled a bit, like he was dizzy. His ears wilted behind his head. "—totally..."

He faltered, and then suddenly collapsed.

"Ratchet!" Clank hopped down from the work bench and rushed to his side. He rolled him over on his back and checked his vitals. He was out cold, and his heartbeat was erratic.

"Oh, dear..." Clank murmured with deep concern.

« ... »

The doctor heaved a doubtful sigh as he listened to his stethoscope and shook his head while jotting something down on his clipboard. Ratchet was laid out on a bed in the trailer atop the work shed, still unconscious and breathing heavily.  
"How is he?" Clank asked, hands clasped nervously together. "What is wrong with him?"

"Well, I don't know how to tell you this..." the man muttered, removing his glasses to look down and meet the hopeful eyes of the little robot. "He's definitely fighting off some kind of disease or infection, but I can't tell exactly what he has."

"What?" Clank muttered in disbelief.

"He spent time on about a dozen different planets in the span of just a few days, and that after having never spent time off Veldin before. It was just too big a shock for his immune system to take. There's any _number_ of ailments he could've come in contact with on a trip like the one you two had. Quite frankly, I'm surprised he didn't get sick sooner.

Clank stared for a long, dreadful moment at the bearer of this terrible news. He had never considered the possibility that something like this could happen to Ratchet as a result of the endeavor he'd gotten him involved in. It never even occurred to him. He had been thinking only of his objective.

"Can you help him?" he asked.

The doctor looked apologetic. "I can give him antibiotics and some medicines to numb the symptoms, but..."

"But...?"

"Well, there's another problem... You see, your friend here is a Lombax."

"And?"

"_And_, Lombaxes are _extremely_ rare creatures. All anyone in this galaxy seems to know about them is what they look like. In fact, this kid is the only one I've ever actually seen."

Clank blinked in sheer bewilderment. "I did not know..."

The doctor sighed and morosely went on, "So you see, without a better fundamental understanding of his physiology, there's not much I can do."

Clank wilted. "I see..."

He glanced over at Ratchet, who looked like he had one foot in the grave—perspiring heavily and fidgeting like he was having a nightmare... or just in terrible pain.

The doctor gave the robot a sympathetic look, and in a poor attempt at offering comfort said, "Try not to worry. It's all up to him now, and his will to live. If he survives this, I have no doubt he can survive anything."

Clank looked up into the doctor's eyes and asked, "What are the chances he _will_ survive?"

The doctor pulled back and bit his lip, breaking eye-contact with Clank. "Like I said, his body is a mystery to me."

Clank got the impression that this was his way of sugar-coating the truth.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**-_ Ticklish—_ Just in case anyone's wondering, my justification for this is the parts in the Nundac Asteroid Field levels in ToD where Clank sometimes giggles and says it tickles when they go through the transport cannon thingies. I always thought that was just adorable, and I'm so happy that I got to tickle him in one of my fanfics. ^-^**

**-_ Ratchet's Workshop/Trailer—_ I may be fudging it a bit with this one. :P In the R&C comic, Ratchet's workshop has a strange little structure on top that I can only describe as a 'trailer,' and that appeared to be the living area where the bed, sink, etc. were. I don't think it existed yet in the first game, but I needed a place for Ratchet to crash, so yeah.**


	2. Caretaker

Ratchet awoke to a throbbing in his ears and a splitting headache. He groaned as he reached up to place his hand against his forehead and tried to remember what had happened. Even thinking hurt.

Suddenly a familiar voice called out with an unfamiliar level of emotion, "Ratchet! You are awake."

With some difficulty the Lombax turned his head to see a blurry sideways image of a little green-eyed robot standing at his bedside.

"C-Clank?" he murmured weakly.

"Yes, Ratchet. I am here. How are you feeling?"

Ratchet groaned and skruched up his face. "Like crap," he muttered.

"You are very ill," Clank explained. "You must try to rest as much as you can. Do you need anything?

Ratchet drew in a deep breath and wiped a slick of sweat from his forehead, then sat up and grumbled, "I could use some fresh air."

"No, Ratchet," Clank exclaimed worriedly. "You must stay in bed! I will open a window."

He placed both hands firmly against Ratchet's chest and tried to push him back down, and at that the stubborn, self-reliant rebel in Ratchet roused.

"I don't _wanna_ stay in bed," he exclaimed, fighting back with all of what little strength he had. "I feel like I've been lying here for hours."

"That is because you _have_," Clank explained, refusing to let Ratchet get up. "Your condition is very serious! If you push your body too hard, you could—"

"Let GO of me, Clank!" Ratchet came as close as he could to shouting this, and immediately regretted it. All at once his throat felt like it was on fire, and he clamped both hands on his neck as he let loose a string of painful coughing.

Clank released his hold on Ratchet at once, and stood there watching until at last he quieted down and managed to steady his breathing.

"It is my fault this happened to you," he said in a soft mechanical voice, his eyes as full of emotion as any robot's could possibly be. "Until you are well, you are my responsibility."

The burning in Ratchet's throat dulled down, and the teenager looked up at his companion in surprise and confusion.

"Please, Ratchet," Clank entreated, "Let me take care of you. It is the least I can do."

For a few seconds, Ratchet just sat there speechless, staring at the little robot like he was speaking a foreign language. Though it irritated his throat, he forced out the question burning in his mind.

"You... want to take care of me?"

"I do, Ratchet," Clank answered with utmost sincerity.

He reached out once more and gently pushed Ratchet back against his pillow. This time, the Lombax didn't resist. He just kept a curious eye on Clank, watching his every move as he reached behind his head to fluff the pillow and shook the blanket to air it out before draping it back over his patient.

Suddenly the warmth didn't seem so bad.

"Are you hungry?" Clank asked.

Ratchet nodded.

"Will you promise to stay in bed if I bring you something to eat?"

Ratchet pursed his lips and glanced uncertainly off to the side.

Clank folded his arms and said, "Ratchet, you will promise me this, or you will starve."

Ratchet heaved a sigh and softly muttered, "Fine."

Clank smiled. "Very well. I will return shortly."

He hopped down from the bench beside the bed—which Ratchet only now realized he'd been standing on—and went to open a window before quietly heading over to the small corner of the trailer that served as a kitchen, his small footsteps clinking along behind him.

Ratchet stared after him, watching as he rummaged around in the messy, neglected cabinets trying to cobble together a meal. The Lombax continued listening to him, but turned his head to stare up at the ceiling. His brain was throbbing, his body ached all over, and his throat was as raw as sandpaper... but for some reason he felt better now than he ever had, as far back as he could remember.

« ... »

Ratchet didn't even realize he'd dozed off until he woke up to the sound of Clank stepping back up to his bed, holding a tray laid out with the most delicious-looking stew Ratchet had ever seen. He felt saliva pooling in his mouth just looking at it. He sat up slowly as the little robot climbed up onto the bench and set the tray down beside his patient. The smell almost knocked him out again, it was so good.

Without a word Clank grabbed a spoon off the tray and scooped up a bite, which he held out toward Ratchet's face. The Lombax gave him a funny look, squinting one eye and dropping one ear.

"Clank, I'm not a baby."

"Of... course," Clank muttered sheepishly.

He put the spoon back in the bowl and helped Ratchet shift the tray onto his lap. Then Ratchet took the utensils into his own hands. When that first bite hit his tongue, he froze.

"What is the matter?" Clank asked. "Is it too hot? Did I do something wrong?"

Ratchet forced himself to chew up his mouthful, and he swallowed with tears in his eyes. It _was_ too hot—almost enough to burn his tongue—but it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

He turned immediately to the drink and guzzled it down in a single breath while Clank watched worriedly. Finally he set the glass down with a gasp and wiped his mouth, turning to the chef.

"Clank, where did you learn how to cook?" he exclaimed.

"Is it terrible?" the robot asked, sounding guilty.

"No, it's great!" Ratchet said as he spooned up another bite. This time he blew on it before shoveling it into his mouth.

"I am... glad you think so," Clank muttered, sounding a bit confused.

A few minutes later Ratchet noticed that Clank was still quietly staring at him with a strange expression on his face.

"Umm... are you just gonna stand there all day?" he asked.

"Oh..." Clank muttered, as though he hadn't realized what he was doing. "No, of course not. I will leave now."

"Wait!" Ratchet exclaimed. Clank gave him a curious look, and he suddenly felt embarrassed. "I mean, you don't _have_ to go, I was just..."

Surprised at himself, the Lombax awkwardly broke eye contact and took another bite of his food.

Clank sighed in resignation and pulled himself up on the bed to sit beside his sick comrade. "Ratchet, I want to ask you something... On any of the planets we visited, do you remember if you ever felt... strange in any way?"

Ratchet set down his spoon and stared off into the distance, thinking. "Well, I felt really cold on Hoven."

Clank blinked. Of all the useless... "Anything else?"

"Um... my ears were really itchy on Orxon."

"And?"

"And... there were a couple of times I felt lightheaded on Pokitaru."

"Really? When?" Clank asked hopefully.

"Oh, you know," Ratchet muttered, "when I'd been underwater for a while."

Clank sighed. Either Ratchet wasn't taking this seriously, or there really wasn't anything to go on. So much for his hope of identifying Ratchet's illness.

"You know what, Clank?" Ratchet muttered. "I didn't really think about it until now, but... we had a really big adventure out there, didn't we?"

Clank forced a smile. "We most certainly did."

"I mean, I got to compete in a professional hoverboard race, and pilot a fighter jet, and shoot about fifteen different guns... I even got to blow up a planet!"

"I am glad you enjoyed yourself," Clank said.

Ratchet chuckled. "Yeah... but I think I would've had a lot more fun doing all those things if I hadn't been mad at _you_ for so long."

Clank looked at Ratchet in surprise.

The Lombax turned away and quietly muttered, "So... no hard feelings?"

Clank blinked away his disbelief. Was Ratchet trying to... apologize?

"Ratchet," Clank said after a moment's silence, "if it had not been for you, I never would have been able to stop Chairman Drek... and if it had not been for me, you would not be suffering right now." He let his face fall and sincerely added, "I am truly sorry."

"Aw, don't be," Ratchet muttered with a dismissive wave. "Heck, if you hadn't shown up, I'd still be scrounging around this planet looking for a robotic ignition system."

"That would have been better for you."

"No way," Ratchet snapped, and Clank looked up at him in surprise. Apparently he didn't really know how to qualify that outburst, so instead he just took another bite of stew. "I mean, don't get me wrong," he muttered with his mouth full, "I love this planet. It's my home..." He paused, swallowed, and continued, "but I _hated_ being stuck here, not able to get away... It was like I was in a cage."

He yawned, looking very sleepy all of a sudden, and leaned back against his pillow and closed his eyes. Then he said a few words that probably never would have entered his mouth if he hadn't been sick and barely conscious. "You... gave me freedom."

Ratchet fell silent, and after a few moments of staring at him in profound surprise, Clank realized that he was asleep. How could he have lost consciousness so fast? His condition must be getting worse.

As unobtrusively as possible, he lifted the tray away and set it on the floor. Then he grabbed hold of the Lombax's hand and applied gentle pressure to his wrist. His heartbeat was steady, but slow.

Clank looked at Ratchet's sleeping face for a long moment, noting the heavy perspiration, the depth of his breathing, and the listlessness of his facial muscles. Letting his focus drift down over the rest of his body, Clank found himself noticing more clearly things that had never before made any difference to him. Although Ratchet was twice Clank's size, he was still small. Although he talked like a big tough guy, he was actually pretty scrawny... And although he had braved an endeavor that most adults would never even attempt, he was still—beyond any doubt—a _child_.

Clank grabbed the edge of the blanket on Ratchet's legs and gently pulled it up to his neck.

"I will do everything in my power to set you free again, Ratchet," he whispered. "I promise."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**-_ Head-Hopping—_ Some of you probably don't even know this term, but basically it means switching POV in the middle of a scene, and technically it's a writing no-no. I try my best to avoid it, but I'm afraid I just couldn't think of another way to do this scene in its entirety without switching from Ratchet's viewpoint to Clank's in the middle. Sorry, there. ^^'**


	3. A Spoonful of Sugar

The next morning came and went, and the afternoon found Clank pacing back and forth across the roof of Ratchet's workshop. He should be awake by now. Why was he sleeping for so long? Clank had checked his pulse hourly, as well as his temperature. It seemed like whenever one was steady, the other was in flux. What Clank would have given for one moment when Ratchet was sleeping peacefully without moaning, wriggling, or muttering nonsense. He shuddered to think what kind of nightmares the poor Lombax was having.

"Clank!"

The robot turned immediately toward the sound of the voice and ran into the trailer. His jaw dropped at the sight of Ratchet on the floor beside his bed, rolling himself up in the blankets.

"Look, Clank, I'm a burrito," he babbled in a happy voice.

"Uh... Ratchet?" Clank approached with caution, and shied back in surprise when Ratchet jumped to his feet with an explosion of blankets.

"Oh! I need you to get something for me," he exclaimed. "Go to the store... and buy two hundred gallons of whipped cream."

Clank hesitated for a moment. "Pardon me?"

"Wait a minute..." Ratchet closed his eyes and pressed a fist to his forehead like he was thinking hard. "Whipped cream is light, so... get five hundred gallons."

"But... what could you possibly do with that much whipped cream?"

"Duh! Fill the pool with it."

"Ratchet, you do not have a swimming pool."

"Oh yeah..." Ratchet thought for another moment, then dazedly said, "Let's go dig a swimming pool."

Clank was flabbergasted for a moment, but remembered the volumes of nonsense that Ratchet had muttered in his sleep and suddenly understood. What kind of horrible disease could make him this delirious after just a day?

"Ratchet, perhaps you should go back to sleep," Clank suggested.

"I don't wanna! I want whipped cream!"

"All right, just wait here for a moment and I will bring you some,"

"Awesome..."

Clank shuffled over to the refrigerator and sighed while he opened it up. As he remembered with mild disgust from his little cooking adventure, there were several containers already waiting inside. Ratchet must enjoy this substance immensely, he thought. After he recovered, they would have to have a talk about proper nutrition.

For now, though, he didn't suppose a little whipped cream could do any harm, and he needed some way to keep Ratchet occupied while he slipped downstairs. So he grabbed one of the white containers and returned to the delirious Lombax's bedside.

"Here you are, Ratchet," he muttered.

"Ooh! Gimme!" Ratchet grabbed the tub right out of Clank's hands.

"Try not to eat it all at once," Clank instructed, feeling like he was talking to a wall. Sighing in resignation, he left Ratchet to his cream and headed downstairs.

Once inside Ratchet's workshop, he went straight to the holo-link and sent an urgent outgoing signal.

"Doctor, are you there?"

"I have a name, you know," answered the voice on the other end. "How's the Lombax?"

"Physically, he appears to be improving, but he is acting very strangely..."

"I see. Probably a side-effect of the medication I gave him."

Clank sighed in relief as the Doctor pointedly added, "If that's the case, there's really only two things you can do."

"Yes?"

"Keep him away from anything messy or dangerous, and... pray for patience."

Clank paused in thought for a moment. Messy or dangerous...? He'd better get back to Ratchet, _fast_.

"I understand. Thank you, Doctor." He ended the transmission and headed upstairs.

When he arrived in the trailer he was greeted by an enthusiastic Ratchet, who was standing in front of his his Qwark poster using his whipped cream to give the good captain a beard and mustache.

"Ratchet, what are you doing?"

The Lombax turned around, waved a foamy paw at the little robot and said, "Hey, Clank, check it out! It's Santa Qwark!"

"You should be in bed," Clank exclaimed, pointing at the tangle of blankets lying on the floor beside Ratchet's bed.

"Aw, don't be stupid, I'm not tired."

No sooner than these words left Ratchet's mouth he yawned, his eyes drifting halfway closed, and he lost his balance. Clank rushed forward just in time to support the Lombax on his side before he fell to the floor.

"Come now, Ratchet," Clank muttered, leading the barely conscious teenager to his bed.

For once Ratchet didn't resist or argue as Clank helped him into bed and repeated the procedure of layering on two or three thin blankets and then tucking him in. He looked like he was barely conscious by the time Clank was finished, but just as the robot was about to leave, Ratchet opened his eyes and sat bolt upright.

"Hey, Clank, check this out," he exclaimed, reaching under his pillow and pulling out the Devastator.

Clank's eyes flew open in shock and he jumped forward. "Ratchet, no!"

The delirious teenager fired, and a missile rocketed from the gun's massive barrel. It blew a huge hole in the wall of the trailer, giving its audience a perfect window to watch it fly out into the desert and explode a mile away, sending up a mushroom cloud of sand.

Clank's mouth hung open while Ratchet laughed like a drunken snagglebeast.

"Two hundred points," the giddy headcase shouted, handing the gun to Clank as he stupidly added, "Your turn, Tincan."

Clank turned on Ratchet with clenched fists and the most serious angry face he could muster. He grabbed the giant firearm, stripped out the ammo, lugged the empty missile launcher across the floor and heaved it out the smoking new hole in the wall. Ratchet would certainly have plenty of fresh air now!

"Ratchet," he steamed as he spun around and pointed a serious finger at his patient's face, storming back to his bedside. "If you do not calm down and stay in bed, you will kill yourself! Do you not understand this?"

Ratchet turned to Clank wearing a goofy grin that no one in their right mind could possibly muster.

"You know what, Clank?" he muttered, barely intelligible. "You're a really good friend."

Clank flinched in surprise and all the sternness in his tone and posture evaporated. "I am?"

"Oh yeah," Ratchet assured. "You make really good potato pancakes."

Clank rolled his eyes. He could have at least said _soup_.

"I've never had a real friend before," the Lombax blathered out of nowhere.

Once more Clank looked into his eyes, astonished. "Never?"

Ratchet shook his head. "Nope... I've always been by myself."

Clank stared for a long, sympathetic moment. At last he sadly asked, "Always?"

Ratchet nodded. "Uh-huh. It's nice having someone to talk to... even though you are kinda dull."

Clank didn't know what to say to that. "Oh... well... thank you."

"Hey, Clank?" Ratchet said in an excited tone. "Tomorrow we should get a big inflatable chicken, and launch it into space."

"That... sounds like fun," Clank replied. His first lie. Ironically he got the impression that, in spite of his delirium and senseless chatter, the things Ratchet had just said about himself were absolutely true.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**-_ Are you crazy?—_ I admit, I may have gone a bit overboard with Ratchet's loopiness when he's in the delirium phase of his weird alien flu, but what can I say? The ideas started to flow, and I couldn't resist a single one of them! XP I think I was inspired by the stories my family told me about the nutty stuff my brother did and said when the hospital had him on morphine. *-***

**-_ Whipped Cream— _I couldn't resist. XP Those of you who have read certain other fics of mine might actually get this running joke. ^-^**


	4. Get Well Soon

**Before I get going with this last chapter, I want to give a quick shout-out to Ghostkid33, who has been faithfully following/reviewing my stories since the later chapters of _The General and Kaden_. I've always wanted to respond to your reviews personally, but since I can't, I figured this was the next best thing. Thanks, GK33! :)**

* * *

Ratchet woke up woozy and disoriented, feeling like he'd had about twenty different dreams that he couldn't remember. He looked around for a moment, wondering where he was, when he was, _who_ he was... For a few minutes, everything was a blur of fuzzy nonsense.

When he finally caught his bearings he sat up and looked around the room. His first glance told him he was in his trailer, but everything about it looked... different. Aside from the gigantic hole in the wall, which he was afraid to even wonder about, the place was actually... tidy. The floor was swept clean, and all the books and gadgets were either neatly lined on dusted shelves or properly mounted on the wall.

_Whoa... I haven't seen my place _this_ clean since..._ He quickly lost track of the thought, unable to remember a time.

He yawned and stretched out his arms as he headed for the trailer door. There was no sign of the little robot responsible for cleaning up this mess, so Ratchet figured he must be downstairs.

He called out Clank's name as he descended into the shop, and looked all around once he reached the dirt floor of his humble workspace, but Clank was nowhere to be found. He must've left when the fever broke.

In spite of himself, Ratchet felt a little... sad. Although, he wasn't sure exactly why. He shouldn't be surprised that Clank would leave. It was amazing he even stuck around as long as he had. No one else would have. So why _shouldn't_ he leave now that Ratchet was better? Why should he stick around to say goodbye to someone he barely knew? It wasn't as though they were... friends.

Ratchet swallowed the lump forming in his throat, and told himself he didn't care. So what if Clank was gone? So what if everything they'd been through together amounted to nothing? He had never needed anyone before, and he didn't now. Nothing had changed.

However, even as he assured himself of these things, a part of him deep down knew they weren't all true, and standing there in his silent, spotless workshop, he was forced to acknowledge something he'd spent his whole life trying to deny—he _hated_ being alone. More than being stuck in one place. More than being told what to do. All this time he had poured as much effort as possible into hating those other things just so that it would take the sting off the loneliness... but it was all for nothing, he realized, now that the hope of having found a friend had crept into his heart and shattered the defenses he'd worked so hard to build.

He clenched his fists, grabbed his wrench off the wall, and heaved it over his shoulder, ready to let loose all his frustration in the hardest swing he could muster—but he stopped when he noticed in the entrance arch the strangest thing he'd ever seen: a big brown grocery bag with legs.

A small round head peeked out from behind the bag, and gasped in surprise.

"Ratchet!" Clank exclaimed. He set down the bag in the same instant that Ratchet dropped his wrench, and ran over to him while listing off a string of questions. "Why are you not in bed? Are you feeling all right? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Clank's hands were spread flat right in Ratchet's face, and he was too caught off guard to respond right away.

"Uh..." he muttered, "Ten? No, wait... six."

He'd almost forgotten. Clank only had three fingers on each hand...

"Oh, dear..." the little robot said worriedly. "I think you had best go back to bed."

He grabbed Ratchet's hand and started leading him inside, but Ratchet pulled away and muttered, "Clank? You're here?"

The little robot gave him a puzzled look. "Of course I am here. Why would I not be?"

"Well... I couldn't find you when I woke up, so..."

"Oh, I see. I was obliged to leave you alone while I went to purchase food items. You have been unconscious for three days."

"Three days?" Ratchet exclaimed. No wonder he was so hungry when he woke up...

"We should go inside," Clank said. "Let me check your temperature, and then I will make you breakfast."

Ratchet's left ear flopped. He still could hardly believe that Clank had actually taken care of him all this time. Unable to think of anything to say, he followed his companion up to the trailer where a bed and a first-aid kit were waiting.

A few minutes later, Clank pulled a thermometer from Ratchet's mouth and quietly read the numbers. He sighed in relief (which looked funny to Ratchet, since he was a robot), and happily stated, "Your temperature has returned to an acceptable level."

"Well _I_ could've told you that," Ratchet sassed, feeling the need to assert his rebelliousness in the face of a growing affection that he didn't want to acknowledge.

"Are you certain you feel all right?" Clank asked.

"I feel fine," Ratchet replied.

"You are not in pain anywhere?"

"No."

"And your head is clear? No... bizarre urges?"

Ratchet rolled his eyes and grumbled, "_Yes_, Clank. For the last time, I am totally, completely okay."

Clank smiled and muttered, "I am glad to hear that."

Ratchet felt a wave of something tender and vulnerable rising up inside him, and he turned away, struggling to raise up his defenses again. "You didn't have to do all that, you know. I would've been fine on my own. Why'd you stick around for so long?"

"I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Well, I'm fine now, okay?!"

Clank went silent, and stared at Ratchet for a moment. It was still a bit hard to discern the emotions on his cold metal face, but Ratchet thought he almost looked hurt.

"I see..." he muttered at long last. "Well then... I suppose I should leave now."

The little robot hopped down to the floor and quietly headed for the door.

"Wait!" Ratchet exclaimed on pure instinct. Clank turned to look at him with a hopeful expression that begged for an explanation. Unfortunately, Ratchet was at a loss for words. His stubborn pride was already rising up in his gut, ready to blast out some sarcastic insult or smart remark... but even louder was the screaming of another voice. His oldest scars and dearest longings cried out from deep inside him with enough passion to wrestle his stubbornness into a stranglehold, threatening that he would never forgive himself if he allowed something as worthless as pride to rob him of this chance.

Swallowing hard and turning away to break eye contact with Clank, he rubbed the back of his head and brusquely muttered, "I mean... you don't _have_ to go..."

Clank tilted his head, giving Ratchet a curious look. "I—do not understand... Do you _want_ me to stay?"

"I don't care," Ratchet lied. "Do what you want."

What a stupid thing to say. Ratchet looked down at Clank's innocent face, fully expecting him to huff off in a fit of righteous indignation. Why would he want to spend another second with an ungrateful brat who couldn't even bring himself to say 'thank you'?

To his surprise, Clank just smiled and stepped forward, meeting Ratchet's eyes from about a foot away. "Very well, then," he said decisively. "I will stay."

« ... »

_Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life._

—_Proverbs 13:12_


End file.
